


There Is No Easy Way To Explain

by FortySevens



Series: These Shoes Are Made For Walking [2]
Category: Daredevil (TV), The Punisher (TV 2017)
Genre: F/M, Kidnapping, Marci finds out about all the things she’s been kept in the dark about, Marci get it wrong before she gets it right, Post DDS3, also references to Frank’s abs, and she is NOT happy about it, because she’s been kidnapped and it’s been a really long day, lots of swears from Marci, post tps2, references to Matt and Elektra
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-09
Updated: 2019-06-09
Packaged: 2020-04-23 05:05:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,436
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19144141
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FortySevens/pseuds/FortySevens
Summary: Karen always knew that Marci finding out about her and Frank would be a shitshow of epic proportions.She also knew that it was never actually going to happen.Except—it does.Aka: The One Where Marci Finds Out Karen Is Sleeping With The Punisher (And Also That Her Boyfriend’s Blind Best Friend Is Hell’s Kitchen’s OTHER Vigilante).





	There Is No Easy Way To Explain

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [carrying](https://archiveofourown.org/works/18589588) by [therestlessbrook](https://archiveofourown.org/users/therestlessbrook/pseuds/therestlessbrook). 



> This has been noodling around in my noggin since reading (and rereading a couple times) Chapter 7 of therestlessbrook’s DDS4 AU Carrying. I love absolutely everything about how they revealed Frank’s identity to Marci, and that inspired this little adventure here.
> 
> And when I was finishing up the last edits to I Wouldn’t Know Where To Start, I realized that this could be the perfect way to follow up to it.
> 
> So—here it is.

They're walking out of a restaurant near the offices of _Hogarth, Chao & Benowitz_ when it happens.

 

Karen, Foggy, and Marci have been kidnapped.

 

Held up at gunpoint by men in masks, forced into a creepy murder van, locked in a dingy, windowless room, _kidnapped_.

 

What the shit?

 

“Rescue should be on its way by now,” Karen says, reorganizing her purse after it was rifled through and one of their kidnappers relieved her of her .380.

 

Her tone is like it’s no damn thing that _she’s been kidnapped_.

 

Then again, from what Foggy’s told her, kidnapping isn’t an uncommon event in Karen’s life.

 

Marci doesn’t understand how the hell Karen hasn’t completely lost her sanity, but either way, she could teach some of the junior attorneys at HC&B a thing or two about composure. She herself is barely keeping it together, and mostly is because Foggy hasn’t left her side since they were shoved into this room by a bunch of men who apparently don’t give two shits that they just dragged two high-powered attorneys _and_ a private investigator with ties to a bunch of Hell’s Kitchen’s vigilantes off the streets.

 

Foggy tilts his head as Karen crosses her arms over her chest and props up against one of the dingy walls, headless of how badly she’s running the back of her dress—Marci sends a quick prayer to the dry-cleaner gods on her behalf.

 

“How do you know that?” He asks.

 

And then, oddly enough, Karen looks away from him, her eyes tracing the lines of the door to the room they’re trapped in like she can make the hinges fall off by sheer force of will, “I had plans after dinner,” she says simply, and Marci narrows her eyes at the way she says, _plans_ , and the way Foggy’s expression sours right after.

 

“Karen,” he groans. “I can’t know-“

  
She holds a hand up, “Then don’t start, Foggy. We’ve talked about this.”

 

“No, you _won’t_ talk about it, because you’re so damn stubborn.”

 

“Even if I _did_ want to talk about it, it’s not your decision who I spend my time with.”

 

Marci looks between them as Foggy takes a breath, about to counter her, “What are you two-” she breaks off, narrows her eyes. “Karen, is this about your secret boyfriend?”

  
“Yes.” “No.”

 

Karen glares at Foggy, “ _No_ , it’s not, because I _do not have_ a secret boyfriend.”

 

“Yes, you-“

 

“Foggy, do you really want to go into this _right now_?” Karen hisses with a pointed flick of her eyes in Marci’s direction.

 

Marci frowns—what is that supposed to mean?

 

“It’s not like it’s even a secret,” Foggy throws his arms up. “ _Everyone_ knows.”

 

“ _I_ don’t know!” Marci rounds on Foggy. “Why do _you_ know who Karen’s secret boyfriend is?”

 

Foggy opens his mouth, but then cuts off whatever he was about to say and huffs a sigh.

 

“Maybe we can talk about this _after_ we get rescued,” Karen says quickly, one hand rising to pinch the bridge of her nose.

 

She does have a point, because apparently this _secret boyfriend business_ is a pretty big deal, but also—what else are they going to talk about while they’re sitting pretty as hostages, waiting for whatever rescue that is apparently _on its way_?

 

—

According to Marci’s watch, their rescue storms into wherever they are about 45 minutes after they were locked into this random little room—which is pretty speedy for a kidnapping that involved them being taken to a secondary location.

 

The rescue is heralded by sounds of grunting, a handful of muffled gunshots that make her cringe and duck behind Foggy, the thuds of bodies being thrown into walls, and other well— _fighting noises_.

 

What?

 

She’s not supposed to be an expert on combat or anything.

 

Then finally, the noises cease.

 

Karen steps carefully away from the door, and Foggy shifts so he’s standing with Marci just a little further behind his shoulder—the one he got shot in, a couple years ago. And then the door opens slowly, revealing—

 

“ _Daredevil?_ ”

 

The Devil of Hell’s Kitchen inclines his head, and Karen—who only looks surprised in that it’s like she didn’t expect _Daredevil_ to be one of the _many_ vigilantes in the city to walk through the door, but also does look happy to see him—and Foggy drop their guard in relief. Karen takes a couple steps forward, glancing around, “Where is-”

 

It might just be Marci’s imagination, but Daredevil looks—almost _annoyed_ at what Karen's half-way through asking, “Clearing the perimeter,” he finally answers.

 

Karen nods once, reaches out and clasps his shoulder for a moment, “Okay. Thank you for coming for us.”

 

Marci looks between Daredevil and Karen, and then back again, “Wait,” she drawls, looks between them again. “Karen, are you secretly dating _the Daredevil?_ ’

 

Her hand slips off his shoulder, and Karen’s lips purse so hard they go from pink to white. She shakes her head in one short, sharp movement as she steps away from him, “Absolutely not.”

 

“Then what-”

 

Foggy cuts her off with a laugh, “Wow Kare, I think that one’s going to sting a bit.”

 

She harrumphs, turns her glare over to Foggy, while Daredevil pointedly looks away.

 

Marci feels her brows hike up to her hairline, which she tries _not_ to do, because she’d really rather not have to invest in Botox until she really has to, “What the fuck is that supposed to mean? And don’t just tell me, _it’s a long story_.”

 

Daredevil angles his head toward the door, “We should get out of here, and _then_ Karen can fill you in.”

 

“Oh, so now it’s _my_ job to explain everything? _Thanks_ ,” Karen drawled with utmost sarcasm.

 

Marci blinks, “Is part of this explanation going to include _why_ you two know each other?”

 

Both Karen and Daredevil cringe, and Karen sighs, “Might as well,” she mutters, but it sounds more like she’s talking to Daredevil than she is to her. “It’s a-“

 

“Let me guess, _a long story_?”

 

Karen winces, “Yeah.”

 

There are bodies littered all around the corridor outside the room they were stashed in, some groaning and in various levels of semi-consciousness, but other than Daredevil kicking one of the thugs in the head with his reinforced boot when he rolled over too far for his tastes, none of them actually try to get up or stop them from leaving.

 

Daredevil leads them outside, where the air is cool in the deepening night, and Marci shivers until Foggy strips out of his jacket and drapes it over her shoulders. Karen stands with her arms crossed tight over her chest to ward off the chill, and Marci half-expects the Daredevil to pull a blanket or something out of thin air, or at least wrap an arm around her—because really, that _absolutely not_ sounded like some serious bullshit—but Karen steps away from him and glares around at the shadows surrounded the warehouse they were in.

 

And then—

 

Marci claps her hands over her mouth to muffle a shriek as Frank _The goddamn Punisher_ Castle melts out of the shadows to Karen’s left, clad in all black and ten tons of Kevlar, holding a truly massive rifle against his shoulder.

 

But Karen barley blinks.

 

And then she _smiles at him_.

 

Karen Page. Smiling. At _The Punisher_.

 

The Punisher stops by her side, puts his hand on her shoulder—but not at all like the way Karen patted Daredevil’s, he's squeezing tight with his long fingers pressing into her upper back—and Marci goggles when she doesn’t immediately flinch away in pants-shitting terror, because _hello, that’s a murderer._

 

“You okay?” The Punisher asks, looking Karen up and down, scanning her for injuries not unlike how Foggy looked at her once the kidnappers left them alone in that room.

 

“Fine,” Karen’s smile turns into a scowl. “One of those assholes took my .380.”

 

 _How_ is that her biggest problem right now?

 

She’s facing down a mass murder. One of the worst New York has ever seen!

 

And—

 

_Why is he even here?_

 

His hand falls away and disappears into his trench coat, retrieving what must be the weapon in question, “Mean this one?”

 

Marci watches Karen light up like she’s been given a bright blue box from Tiffany or a pair of Louboutins or an Hermes scarf instead of a _gun_.

 

Wait.

 

Louboutins.

 

Holyfuckingshit.

 

Holy.Fucking.Shit.

 

“Karen Page, why the _fuck_ is _The Punisher_ buying you Louboutins? I cannot believe you!”

 

Oh god.

 

She just sounded like her mother.

 

This is truly one of the worst nights of her life.

 

Turning away from The Punisher—who looks infinitely entertained by her outburst—with something of a guilty look on her face, Karen shoves the gun into her handbag, “Look, Marci—it’s a really long story.”

 

 _Oh, for fucks sake, can people_ stop _saying that?_

 

“Which you’re not tellin’ _here_ ,” The Punisher nods with his chin toward his left. “Come on, the van’s around back.”

 

Karen walks way with _The actual Punisher_ cradling her shoulder again, Daredevil at her heels, and Foggy tugs her along, “We’re just going to go _with him_?” Marci hisses under her breath. “Foggy, he murders people for a living!”

 

“Oddly enough, not the worst part of his personality.”

 

“Heard that Counselor.”

 

Marci jolts, but The Punisher keeps walking, and Foggy sighs, tugs at her hand away, “I promise, he’s not going to hurt us. Especially not with Karen here.”

 

“I’m sorry, _what_ does that have to do with anything?”

 

Wait.

 

_Holy shit._

 

—

The Punisher barely has time to turn the van out of the alley he stashed it in when Marci starts in again.

 

Because she can’t _not_.

 

“Karen, I know you kind of got _thrown_ in to the whole paralegal thing, but did Matt and Foggy not teach you _a thing_ about ethics? Specifically, the ethics of _not sleeping with your client?_ Especially the clients on trial for almost _forty fucking homicides_.”

 

The only sound in the van is the rumble of the engine and the soft shift of Karen running her palm over her face.

 

And then, Frank _The Punisher_ Castle fucking _cackles_.

 

Turning around in her seat, Karen smacks the arm of the man who spends his happiest of times shooting people, “Don’t be an asshole, we’ve had a long night,” she turns to Marci, and her gaze softens from this seriously _ridiculous_ exasperated fondness to intent understanding. “Marci, Frank and I were never—not during his trial. I promise, I do have _some_ sense.”

 

The Punisher snorts, mutters something under his breath that sounds suspiciously like, “ _Debatable_ ,” and Karen levels a glare to the side of his head like they didn’t meet when The Punisher pursued her and one of _Nelson & Murdock’s_ clients through Metro General _with a shotgun_.

 

“It sure would explain how badly he fucked up that trial if you were.”

 

Karen rolls her eyes, “We can actually thank Wilson Fisk for that.”

 

“ _What_.”

 

“Like I said, Marci, it’s complicated.”

 

Her right eye is starting to twitch.

 

If someone tells her it’s complicated _one more time—_

 

 

She needs a drink.

 

She needs _so many_ drinks.

 

 _“_ There is _nothing_ complicated about _murder!_ You know what?” She snaps. “Enough of this shit. I need _someone_ who is in this van, I don't even care if it's The Punisher, to tell me everything right now, in an order of events that I can possibly _understand!_ ”

 

The Punisher snorts and slows to a stop at a red light—somewhere, and Marci has _no fucking clue_ where she is or where they’re going and she hopes to god that _The goddamn Punisher_ isn’t going to do something stupid like pull up in front of her building in what looks like _an actual murder van._

 

Her doorman will never let her live that down.

 

Not to mention _her neighbors._

 

And seriously, why do all the criminals in New York City insist on driving murder vans?

 

“Guess that means she’s still in the dark about _you,_ eh Red?”

 

“What the fuck is _that_ supposed to mean?”

 

Karen smacks her hand over her eyes, and through the rearview mirror and the haze of her growing annoyance, Marci sees The Punisher look particularly _smug_ for some reason, so she turns to the other side of the van.

 

Daredevil is perched in a crouch on the bench seat across from her and Foggy, between a case of knives and a box probably filled with implements of murder that Marci doesn’t want to think about, and he has a tension in his jaw that tells her he wants to be anywhere but here.

 

Not that she blames him, because _hello_ , murder van.

 

She arches a brow, “Well? What do _you_ have to do with all this? Is this part of some sort of weird vigilante bro code or something?”

 

There’s another beat of dead silence, and for whatever reason, Marci feels Foggy tense up next to her.

 

Then, Daredevil takes his mask off, and Marci swears her heart stops when she sees the face of _Matthew Fucking Murdock_ under that ridiculous red monstrosity.

 

“Hi Marci.”

 

“What _the shit_ ,” she turns her wide-eyed gaze to Foggy, who just looks like he’s in pain, instead of stunned beyond all belief. “Why the fuck are you not surprised about this?”

“Uh, well,” he stammers, and her glare darkens. “You see, Marci, it’s really—“

 

Up front, The Punisher starts snickering again.

 

Despite the fact that he’s _blind_ —and how the hell is he supposed to be a functioning superhero if _he can’t see_ —Marci watches Matt scowl right at the back of The Punisher’s head, “ _Not now_ , Frank.”

 

—

The Punisher—because despite the fact that he’s apparently _sleeping with Karen_ and Matt and Foggy _knew but didn’t tell her_ , there’s no fucking away in hell Marci can bring herself to think of him as just some very grumpy man named _Frank_ —takes them to the offices of _Nelson, Murdock & Page_.

 

It’s as good a place to hash this out as any.

 

“I figured he’d take us to his secret lair or something,” Marci mutters under her breath as she sits down in the conference room, kicking off her heels and slumping back into one of the second-hand rolling chairs.

 

Karen rolls her eyes as she kicks out of her own shoes, stands barefoot in the middle of the room, which for _some_ reason makes The Punisher frown, “Frank doesn’t have a _lair_ ,” she snorts when the man in question makes a sound in the back of his throat that’s almost—offended? Amused? Both? Marci can’t be sure. “He has a shitty apartment by the docks that he mostly just uses as a weapons stash.”

 

“I know I’m going to regret asking this,” Foggy says as he comes in with a bunch of water bottles balanced on one hand. He tosses one to Frank, and then pitches one at Matt’s head, just to see him catch it out of midair before it breaks his nose. The third goes to Karen before he cracks one open and puts it on the table in front of her, and takes the last one for himself. “But how often _does_ Frank sleep at this shitty apartment by the docks that he mostly just uses as a weapons stash?”

 

Marci almost spits out her water at the identical looks Foggy receives from The Punisher and Karen.

 

So yeah, they’re _really sleeping together_.

 

How the hell did _that_ happen?

 

“While this is infinitely hilarious and all, I’m _still_ waiting for an explanation of _all of this_ , and why the hell _no one_ thought to tell me!” She makes an encompassing gesture around the room, from Karen who’s leaning against the wall next to The Punisher—who looks mostly amused by the whole thing—to Matt who looks like he’s in actual pain, and Foggy who just looks like he wants to die.

 

This must be one hell of a story.

 

—

And holy shit, _it is_.

 

“I cannot believe you _all_ kept this from me,” she hisses once Karen finishes her and The Punisher’s side of _this whole mess_ with the antics of a _matchmaking teenager_. “How the hell did you manage this _for so long_?”

 

“We didn’t want to put you in danger,” Matt says in that tone of his that makes for a very poor attempt at placating. “Physically _or_ ethically.”

 

Despite the fact that he can’t _actually see her_ , she stabs her pointer finger in his direction, “Don’t you talk to me about _ethics_ Matthew Murdock.”

 

The Punisher snorts, and Marci glares at him, turns to Karen, “He doesn’t get to start either. Do you have _any_ idea how much danger you’re in just for staying in contact with him?”

 

“Yes,” Karen sighs. “We know.”

 

Apparently it’s worth it for them.

 

That’s so fucking weird.

 

She sighs, runs her hand through her hair, “Okay, let me see if I can get this straight,” she says like she’s talking to a room full of hostile witnesses, because it’s not like they’re _not_. “You,” she starts with Foggy. “Know pretty much everything, have for _years_ , and haven’t said a word.”

 

“Correct,” he confirms, but does have the decency to look sheepish.

 

“ _And you_ ,” she points at Matt while pacing up and down the length of the table. “Went blind when you were a kid, _which I knew_ , but your blindness came with superpowers, _which I didn’t know_ , and you were trained by another blind ninja and are trying to save the city by beating the shit out of criminals by night, and then heaping them with prison sentences by day. And for _whatever_ reason, you decided to _beat up_ The Punisher _and then defend him_ in court? Which I know enough about because that shitshow of a trial was in the news for _weeks._ ”

 

“More or less.”

 

Marci turns to Karen, who sits at the other side of the table, The Punisher standing like some imposing sentinel, “And _you_ moved to New York and somehow became this city’s biggest shit magnet, The Punisher has both saved your life _and_ held you hostage _multiple times_ , you helped him figure out who was responsible for his family’s murders—which is a totally noble crusade, don’t think I don’t understand that—and then you had some weird falling out around the same time he came _back_ to the city to murder _even more people_ , but eventually he came back to grovel with a _truly gorgeous_ pair of Louboutins, and now you’re sleeping together.”

 

Karen looks up at The Punisher, one eyebrow arched at the way he’s looking almost petulantly down at his feet, and then he grumbles under his breath, “Only really held you hostage that one time. Second was all your idea.”

 

Marci stops short, blinks hard, “I don’t give a fuck about your hostage-taking foreplay semantics. I just don’t understand how _you_ , who should have sense,” she says to Karen. “Are sleeping with _him_.”

 

With a sigh, Karen stands, pats The Punisher on the arm before rounding the table and pushing Marci down into one of the chairs, “Look,” Karen says as she sits next to her. “I know it’s complicated and we’re all exhausted and stressed right now. You’re taking in _way_ more information than you can handle, and there’s way more to it that we can explain in just one night. Let’s get dinner next week, just you and me, and I’ll fill you in on the rest of it.”

 

“Do I even want to know what _the rest of it_ entails?”

 

“For the record,” Foggy chimes in. “I _can’t_ know what any of that entails. Please, for the love of all that is holy, never tell me.”

 

Karen turns in her chair, “Stop telling me about your sex life, and I’ll continue _not_ talking about _mine_.”

 

“Foggy Bear!” Marci’s jaw drops. “I can’t believe you!”

 

The Punisher, who had been drinking from his water bottle, chokes and sputters, “ _Counselor,_ ” He gasps around a rough, rasping laugh, and swipes the back of his arm over his mouth. “ _What_ did she just call you?”

 

“Karen, quick, you _have to_ tell me one of your terrible pet-names for Frank. _Please_.”

 

Karen rolls her eyes, “You really think we use pet names?”

“Well, does he still call you _ma’am_?” Karen looks at him, pointed, and Foggy turns back to The Punisher, puffs his chest out a little bit, and Marci resists the urge to groan and bury her head in her hands, “Don’t even think about using that name, because I will do something to retaliate. I don’t know what it’ll be, but you will not like it.”

 

The Punisher looks at Foggy pointedly, and he makes a quiet _meeping_ noise before he inches his chair closer to Karen’s, who sighs and stands, “We’re just talking in circles at this point,” she pushes Foggy’s chair away so she can move away from the table. “I think it’s time we call it a night.”

 

Marci doesn’t disagree, but also, “But what do you mean by _the rest of it_?”

 

“Well, we didn’t even talk about how Matt’s girlfriend is involved,” Karen says while using The Punisher’s arm for balance as she toes back into her shoes.

 

“Elektra?” Marci asks while The Punisher helps Karen into his oversized trench coach, and she has to admit that his manners _are_ kind of endearing, you know, for a murderer. “They met in college and have been on and off for over a decade. What about her?”

 

Karen looks back at Marci over her shoulder, “She’s a formerly-dead and brainwashed ninja assassin.”

 

Wait— _what?_

 

“Karen!”

 

She levels a pointed look in Matt’s direction that Marci _knows_ he can’t see, “ _Am I wrong_?” As Matt makes a very strange, choked noise under his breath, she looks back at Marci. “Call me later this week and we’ll make those dinner plans. It’ll be nice to finally have someone to commiserate about all this with.”

 

The Punisher groans, kind of like Foggy whenever she brings up them making plans with her parents, and Karen laughs loudly as she threads her arm through his, “Come on, let’s go stash the murder van and go home,” she hums as she leads him out of the conference room. “I can’t wait to tell Amy about all of this.”

 

The opening and subsequent closing of the office’s front door drowns out most of The Punisher’s pained reply, and the sounds of Karen’s tinkling laughter echoes down the hall.

 

At least she’s happy.

 

Marci turns in her chair toward Matt, “Okay, so what the fuck is this about an undead ninja?”

 

She doesn’t know how it’s possible, but Matt looks even _more_ like he wants to die.

 

Before he can answer, Foggy laughs, low and booming as he comes over and presses a kiss to the crown of her disheveled hair, “You know, I have been asking him that for _years_.”

 

—

“I’m sorry I kept this all from you,” Foggy says, later when they’re back at her apartment, doors locked safely behind them. “It’s just—they’ve never been my secrets to tell.”

 

“Hell of a lot of secrets to keep,” Marci sighs and takes off her shoes before going straight to the kitchen for something a _lot_ stronger than water.

 

She reaches for a glass and is about to head over to the bar on the far side of the kitchen, but exhaustion hits her like a wall and she sighs, turns the sink on and fills the cup with water instead, “You really love Matt and Karen, don’t you? You wouldn’t keep these secrets if you didn’t.”

 

Foggy comes up next to her, wraps and arm around her waist and tugs her to him, “I love you more,” he says, presses his mouth to her temple. “I always wanted you to know, but I didn’t know, you know, how to tell you. Matt wasn’t lying when he was talking about the ethics if it all. Just knowing Karen and Matt puts me in a very delicate situation, and I never wanted you to deal with that side of it.”

 

“I know,” she sighs, wraps her arm around his waist and holds him to her tighter. “You’re a good friend, Foggy Bear.”

 

“So are you, Marci,” he kisses her cheek before letting her go. “Come on, let’s go to bed. Put this whole night behind us.”

 

He takes her hand and leads her to her bedroom, “Hey Foggy Bear?”

 

“Yeah?”

 

“How _did_ Matt and The Punisher find us so quickly?”

 

Foggy stops short in the middle of the living room and Marci frowns up at him before he shakes his head and starts walking again, “You know, I don’t think we should think about it. We should just be very thankful that Frank is _very_ protective of Karen, and move on.”

 

—

“Really Karen?”

 

It’s been a week and a half, but Marci’s still stuck on the whole, ‘Karen is and _has been_ sleeping with The Punisher for months and no one told her about that _or_ the fact that Matt Murdock is the fucking _Daredevil_ ’ thing, so she invited Karen over for that promised night of dinner, drinks, and some light interrogation.

 

But mostly, _lots_ of drinks.

 

Karen shrugs one shoulder and carefully sips her whiskey, “I’m not going to try to justify it, I know it’s a lot. It’s very complicated,” she winces when Marci flinches at that word. “It’s just—after everything Frank and I have been through together, it’s worth it.”

 

She has this silly, _fond_ look on her face, and Marci’s jaw drops, because _holy crap_ , they’re not just sleeping together, she’s _in love_ with the guy.

 

“Actually, it might make a lot more sense if you saw Frank’s eight-pack.”

 

If she was drinking, Marci probably would have spit the better part of a $600 bottle of whiskey across her granite countertops, “ _What?_ ”

 

“I’m kidding.”

 

Marci looks at Karen for a _long_ time, “No you’re fucking not. _Really?_ ”

 

“Yeah,” Karen says, the apples of her cheeks flushing red a little. “There are some serious perks to sleeping with a former Marine.”

 

Marci goggles at her, “How the hell is this your life?”

 

“I have no idea.”

 

Karen smiles, like she’s happy with how she’s a shit magnet and _no one_ can actually know who she’s dating—if they even _call it that_ —because he’s a criminal and also technically dead and it’s all very complicated, and that’s when it hits Marci that Karen _really does_ love living this way.

 

Go figure.


End file.
